I sailed in all the Italian Minor islands to tell all these islandsʼ stories; because winter undresses these lands from the stereotype of summer paradise and shows a different beauty made of tales and everyday gestures.
Mine is a mapping of something near that remains far, a survey on the islander condition. And this condition stands out in the winter season. The stormy sea preventing the ferry from leaving, the tank carrying water to distant cliffs, the men fishing for squids and hunting migratory birds, the only open bar on the island, are all little allegories. Every island has its own story. In some way, the same story of every island.
I had been on the island for more than a month, going through both silence and waiting. Talking about the unpredictable wind, which blows from north west and than suddenly turns to east while you were trying to define its direction. Understanding that the sea, seen from the island, reveals itself like an unstable fact.